Three Hours Late
by Underground Umbreon
Summary: Solving yet another mystery. This time, we find out the story behind that mysteriously late engineer Joanne mentions in "Tango:Maureen." Oneshot, MarkJoanne friendship, implied MoJo. T because it's RENT.


"Please, baby? For me?" Maureen was, as usual, pouting. The cause this time? Her equipment had broken down and, seeing as Joanne had _insisted_ she stop having Mark as her production manager, Joanne was the only one who could fix it. The overwhelmed lawyer frowned slightly, and Maureen knew it was only a matter of time before she would cave. And sure enough, she gave a light sigh before agreeing in a tone one could compare to someone who had just run once around all of Alphabet City.

"But you're going to go get something to eat now, okay?" It was Maureen's turn to sigh, but realizing that arguing over this could jeopardize her protest, she perked up instantly.

"Anything you say honey bear, see you in a few!" With that the drama queen was off, leaving Joanne with the equipment.

"Okay, how hard can this be?"

* * *

An hour later and Joanne figured she was finally done, although Maureen had yet to return. However, her girlfriend's absence was the farthest thing from her mind as she triumphantly jiggled one last wire into place.

Instantly a loud boom echoed throughout The Space, and sparks flew from the machine she had been _so sure_ was fixed. After stamping out the various little flames, Joanne threw up her hands in exasperation.

"That is _it_! I am a smart, resourceful woman, and I am _hiring an engineer_." Without further ado, she stormed outside to find a payphone and check the phone book.

* * *

It took calls to eight different places, but Joanne had finally hired an engineer and contentedly dialed the number to the Space, assuming Maureen had returned. A loud scream followed the first two rings, causing Joanne to almost drop the phone. Maureen never did like being alone…

"Don't scream Maureen, it's me, Joanne, your substitute production manager! Hey hey hey!" she said with false enthusiasm. It was then she remembered why her girlfriend had been out so long. "Did you eat?"

"Is the equipment fixed?" the other woman countered.

"Don't change the subject, Maureen." Joanne said in a clearly frustrated tone.

"Well, you see…no."

"But darling, you haven't eaten all day!"

"I'll throw up, then! You know I will!" Maureen wailed.

"You won't throw up, you won't throw up!" Joanne said pleadingly. Another scream came from the other line.

"Oh my God, the digital delay blew up!"

"The digital delay…didn't blow up exactly…there may have been one _teeny tiny_ spark…"

"Baby, I love you, but that's it. I'm calling Mark."

"You're not calling Mark!" Joanne protested loudly, but Maureen had already hung up. "Hello? Well, great. Could this day get any worse?"

* * *

Apparently, it could. Three hours later found Joanne working on the equipment again, seeing as the engineer had yet to show up. "Line in…I went to _Harvard_for this?!" she muttered incredulously as she shoved random wires into what hopefully was their proper place. The sound of footsteps made her look up from her task. A skinny blonde man dressed quite warmly had entered the space. Horror swept over Joanne. Could it be…?

"Mark?" The question came out with as much dread as she felt.

"Hi…" he said nervously with a wave.

"I _told her _not to call you," she said pointedly in the hope that he would leave.

"That's Maureen, but…can I help since I'm here?" he asked, keeping his nervous tone. He had every right to be nervous: with her wild hair, frazzled expression, and ruffled clothing, Joanne was quite a sight.

"I've hired an engineer," she said matter-of-factly. But then a thought crossed her mind: he could fix it. He could fix it right now, probably free of charge.

"Great, well…nice to have---"

Mark was promptly cut off by a desperate cry of "Wait!" from Joanne. He turned around to see her giving him a sheepish smile.

"She's three hours late."

* * *

Mark was definitely competent, she'd give him that. And good at tango. And the best part was that he could tell her about Maureen; teach her all the tricks of the trade, so to speak. He was like a study guide of sorts, and Maureen was one of the hardest tests Joanne had ever taken. The conversation made her completely forget she had hired an engineer in the first place, not that it mattered…

* * *

Clara sighed heavily as she drove her company van down 11th Street. At last the prissy rich couple had let her go when she explained she didn't fix little girls' karaoke machines. After that, heading for the darker side of town was almost a refreshing dose of reality. She would need to apologize like crazy for being so late, though…maybe give a discount. Quickly she parked the van, grabbed her toolbox, and hopped out. Although she was tired already, she _was_ very late, and dashed towards the place aptly named "The Space."

The sight that greeted her was odd at best. A skinny, pale man with blonde hair and glasses was…tangoing?…with an African-American woman in a dressy outfit complete with suspenders.

"I…probably have the wrong place. Maybe they said 7th Street and I misheard?" Still trying to justify the strange dance, Clara scuttled back into her van and drove off.

**A/N**: Ta-da! Just a plot idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a while. Seriously, where _was_ that engineer? Anyway…hope you liked it!


End file.
